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Aubrey had turned their house into a small army base of care. It was the only thing that made sense to him now structure, schedules, preparation. Anything that might smooth the transition once Amara was finally home.
The kitchen calendar had been wiped clean and rewritten in his careful block handwriting. Meal plans. Appointments. Janae's night shifts. Deena's extended nanny hours. Even Adonis's soccer schedule had a bold circle around it, because he didn't want their oldest feeling left behind.
The chef started next week, promised to stock the fridge and freezer so no one would have to think about cooking for at least a month. Deena had agreed to take on more hours, juggling both Aaliyah and Adonis so their days stayed consistent. And Janae, the night nurse, was lined up to handle feedings and night care for Amara, no questions asked so Jasmine could rest.
In his mind, all of this was the solution. If he could take the weight off her shoulders, she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed. If everything ran like clockwork, she wouldn't have to carry the stress of two babies under two. She could just... breathe again.
Amara's nursery was ready now. Cream walls, muted pink bedding, shelves stocked with neatly folded onesies and swaddles. A mobile hung above the crib, playing the same lullaby he'd hummed to her in the NICU. Aubrey had stood in the doorway late last night, hand on the frame, picturing her in the crib, picturing Jasmine rocking her in the corner chair. It made the waiting both easier and harder.
They visited her every day, without fail. But the visits had shifted no longer the desperate, early days when every minute beside her felt like survival. Now they were a countdown. Days marked by watching her get stronger, knowing she still wasn't home.
For Jasmine, the space between them was unbearable. It was one thing when Amara had been just down the hall in the hospital; twenty minutes away was wrong. Unnatural.
Even with all the help lined up, her chest tightened at the thought of having two so young. Aaliyah was fourteen months now walking, pulling herself onto the couch, grabbing at anything she could reach. Most days, Jasmine sat cross-legged on the living room rug with her, a stack of board books beside them. She'd read a page, her voice steady at first, then trail off into silence as her gaze drifted toward the window.
"Mama... 'gain," Aaliyah would prompt, tapping the page with a small hand. Jasmine would blink, force a small smile, and start over.
Aubrey noticed, how could he not? But he didn't press. Not yet. She was quieter now, not just with him but with everyone. Calls came in daily friends, family, probably wanting to congratulate her but she didn't answer a single one. The phone sat on the counter, buzzing until the screen dimmed.
She stayed in oversized sweatsuits or wrapped in blankets no matter the time of day. Even in bed, she was fully dressed. She changed in the bathroom with the door locked, emerging with her hair tucked into a hood or pulled low over her face. She hadn't let him see her since the hospital, not really.
